


Under the Moon

by FrankenSpine



Series: Scarytales [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, Curses, F/F, Magical Realism, Morbidly romantic, One Shot, Romantic Soulmates, Sex, Witchcraft, based on candyman, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankenSpine/pseuds/FrankenSpine
Summary: Emma Swan is a reporter looking to write an article regarding a local legend about an ancient witch whose spirit slaughters those who foolishly attempt to summon her. The more Emma learns about the witch, the more convinced she is that the story might not be as far-fetched as she once believed.Based on the movie 'Candyman.'





	Under the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song of the same name by Insane Clown Posse.
> 
> "We'll always be together, 'cause we're both under the moon."

Emma knocked on the door of the apartment. A young brunette with a red streak in her hair opened it, looking wary.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, my name’s Emma Swan. I’m a reporter for the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. I’m working on a story about the Witch Queen and I wanted to know if you’d like to answer a few questions.”

The woman was visibly shaken. “The— The Queen?” she asked fearfully, “Why would you wanna write about _her?” _

“Well, as I’m sure you know, there’s been a string of violent murders lately, and I’ve heard that some believe she’s responsible.”

“She’s just a myth,” the woman said quickly. _Too _quickly.

“You seemed pretty unnerved by the mere mention of her,” said Emma, “I’m sure you’re right, but if it’s alright with you, I’d still like to interview you. I understand if you’re not up for it.”

The young woman sighed. “Fine. Come on in.” She let Emma inside and quietly closed the door. “My name’s Ruby,” she said, “Ruby Lucas.”

Emma smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” She pulled out a small notepad. “Why don’t you give me the basic rundown of the whole ‘Witch Queen’ story? Everyone always adds or takes away certain details. I’d like to hear your version.”

“Okay, well, um,” Ruby hesitated, “When she was alive, the townspeople called her the Queen of Darkness. She wasn’t really a Queen. Some say she sold her soul to the Devil, and used dark magic to cast curses on those who wronged her. Eventually, the townspeople had enough of her tormenting them, and they burned her at the stake. My granny once told me that the Queen’s final words were a curse upon those who had killed her, and all their descendants.”

“And do you think the recent murder victims might be their descendants?” Emma asked her.

Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be, I guess.”

“You said your granny told you about this? Is there any way I could speak with her?”

“Sorry. You’re six years too late.”

Emma’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Ruby just waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be. She passed quietly, in her sleep. She always used to say that was how she wanted to go. I’d much rather go out in a blaze of glory. You know, like Evel Knievel or something.”

“I’d be too chicken for that,” Emma said with a chuckle. She paused a moment. “Anyway, I’ve heard that the Queen’s spirit can be summoned through a ritual. Care to describe it for me?”

“It’s pretty much a Bloody Mary type thing,” said Ruby, “You go into the bathroom, or wherever there’s a mirror, and you turn out the lights, then you say, ‘long live the Queen,’ three times. If you hold a lit candle when you say it, she won’t kill you. She’ll just gouge your eyes out with her iron claws— or so they say.”

“You’ve never tried it?”

Ruby scoffed. “I’m not an idiot.”

“So you believe it, then?” Emma quizzed.

Ruby folded her arms in defiance. “I never said that.”

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

The brunette stood up suddenly. “I’m sorry, but I think you should go. I have to get dinner started.”

Emma was disheartened by this, but did not object. “Right. Of course. Thank you for your time.”

“Uh huh,” Ruby said, again dismissive as she all but ushered Emma out the door. Once Emma was out of the apartment, the door was swiftly locked and the curtains were drawn.

Emma checked the time on her phone and realized how late it was getting, so she decided to head home and conduct more interviews the next day. She was hungry, too, she realized, but didn’t feel like cooking. She decided to go the simplest route and slide a frozen pizza into the oven for good measure. One could never go wrong with DiGiorno.

She headed home for the night and was met by her beloved cat, Henry, who meowed at her in greeting. She scooped him up like a baby and he purred as she rubbed his belly.

“I missed you, too, buddy,” she cooed, “I just heard all about the big bad Witch Queen. If you aren’t a good kitty, she’ll come out of the mirror and snatch you up. We don’t want that, now do we?”

She set him down on the couch while she heated up the oven and poured herself a glass of iced tea. Just as she couldn’t go wrong with a frozen pizza, there was no going wrong with Milo’s famous sweet tea. After a while, it was time to put the pizza in the oven, and so Emma went and joined her affectionate fur-baby on the couch, flipping through Netflix.

“What’s it gonna be, Henry? Wanna run another iZombie marathon?” Earning a squeaky meow in response, Emma laughed and patted the cat’s head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

When the night was over, Emma got ready for bed and headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she did, she stared at herself in the mirror and thought back to what Ruby had said. The temptation came creeping into her mind like an afternoon haze. She went into the kitchen and rummaged around the cabinets for a candle. She eventually found one and lit it, going into the bathroom and flipping off the light.

With a deep breath, she whispered into the darkness: _“Long live the Queen. Long live the Queen. Long live the—”_

She was cut off by the sound of something falling and breaking in the kitchen, startling her. She quickly rushed to investigate, leaving the flickering candle next to the bathroom sink. She was oblivious to the face of the woman watching her from within the dimly-lit mirror. When Emma got to the kitchen, she found Henry on the counter, and he meowed when he saw her.

“Alright, what’d you break?” she asked with a huff. She gasped when she saw the broken bottle of blue Kinky shattered on the floor. _“Henry!”_ she scolded, “How many times have I told you not to get on the counter?” She sighed heavily. “I should know better than to leave bottles sitting around,” she muttered as she got to work sweeping up all the broken shards and mopping the tile.

When she was finished cleaning up the mess, she returned to the bathroom and blew out the candle, and headed to bed for the night. As was routine, Henry trotted after her and curled up at the end of her bed, near her feet. It took a while, but eventually, Emma fell asleep. Her dreams were plagued by the images of a hauntingly-beautiful woman she had never seen before, yet the woman still seemed so familiar, as if they’d known each other for years.

The woman had dark hair and even darker eyes, which seemed to burn with fury and passion all at once. She spoke, and her words dripped with desire. Her smoky tone left Emma feeling flustered.

_“Em-ma,”_ the woman husked, _“Once more. Say it once more, and the two of us can be one, forever and always. Remember who you are, Emma Swan.”_

The rest of the dream was lost on Emma as her eyes flew open, and she was overcome with a strong sense of arousal. She groaned as she climbed out of bed and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Once she’d relieved herself, she slowly washed her hands and stared up at herself in the mirror, thinking back to what the woman had said.

“Once more,” she whispered, suddenly realizing what that meant.

She glanced at the candle, then back up at her reflection, and bit her lip with uncertainty. She felt her heart begin to race. What if she did it? What if she performed the ritual and had her eyes gouged out, or worse, wound up savagely killed by the vengeful spirit of a witch? She swiftly shook the thought from her head.

“It’s not real,” she told herself, “It’s just a story.”

As she went about her day, asking more and more people about the Queen, Emma found herself struggling to convince herself it wasn’t real. Those willing to speak with her seemed so sincere as they relayed the horrific tale of the Witch Queen. It was clear to her that they truly believed the things they were saying, and that made it all the more unsettling. That evening, when she’d gotten several accounts of the Queen’s twisted tale, Emma headed home and typed everything into her computer. She slurped down some shrimp lo mein she’d brought home and treated herself to some equally-delicious shrimp fried rice.

“You can’t go wrong with shrimp, Henry,” she said with a mouthful of noodles.

The cat just meowed at her, so she _accidentally_ dropped a shrimp on the couch, which Henry was quick to devour, happily purring as he did so. Emma continued her iZombie marathon while she wolfed down her Chinese food, and after a few hours, she decided it was time for bed, so she put away the leftovers and went to her room with Henry close behind. She slipped into a tank top and plaid pajama pants before heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and once again, her thoughts revolved around the Witch Queen as she noticed the candle. Swallowing nervously, she tried to ignore the feeling of dread that overwhelmed her, but found it impossible. A familiar voice echoed in the back of her mind.

“Once more,” it whispered.

A shaky breath escaped her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she proceeded to brush her teeth. She felt like someone was in the room with her, watching her, and so she quickly finished brushing and darted down the hall to her bedroom. She practically slammed the door shut and dove under the covers like a frightened child. Henry was just staring at her like she was a dumbass, as cats were known to do.

“Stupid, I know,” she muttered, “but you’d be scared, too, if you knew what was going on, buddy.”

Henry just meowed at her before taking his place at the foot of the bed. Emma did everything she could to fall asleep, but her efforts were in vain, and so she just lied there for what seemed like an eternity, deafened by the pounding of her heartbeat within her ears. Even then, she swore she heard someone utter her name, somewhere in the darkness. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly, just like before.

_“God please, just make this go away,”_ she thought.

The familiar voice of the woman whispered to her within her mind. _“There is no God, my dear. Only devils.”_

Emma curled into a fetal position and after what felt like forever, found sleep, though her dreams were most troublesome. She dreamt that she was being doused in hot oil while bound to a large wooden pole. People in colonial clothing were screaming and cursing at her.

One person stood out from the rest of the hateful crowd, not saying a word. It was a mysterious hooded figure wearing dark robes. Emma couldn’t see this person’s face, yet she felt as though she knew them, and knew them well.

She awoke with a gasp, struggling to breathe. She looked to her phone and checked the time, as it was still dark out. Three in the morning.

_“How cliché,”_ she thought, _“A white girl wakes up from a nightmare right at the start of the Witching Hour. I’d probably be the first to die in a horror movie.”_

Feeling like her bladder was about to explode, she reluctantly made her way down the hall to the bathroom and flipped on the light before stepping inside. She closed the door and sat down on the toilet, sighing in relief as she went about her business. When she was done, she washed her hands and again found herself eyeing the candle. The temptation was eating away at her. She had to know. She needed to prove to herself once and for all that it was just a dumb story to scare little kids. She let out a heavy sigh and hung her head in shame.

“Lord forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

She went to the kitchen, found a lighter, and lit the wick. After some hesitation, she turned off the light.

“One more time,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She took a slow, deep breath, and uttered the fateful words, _“Long live the Queen.”_

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind that blew out the candle. Emma had no idea where it could have come from. There was no window in the bathroom. She gasped as her eyes flew open, and what she saw made her scream bloody murder. There in the mirror, in the pale glow of the moonlight that flooded the apartment, was the face of the woman who haunted her dreams.

Emma threw down the candle and rushed out of the bathroom, locking herself in her room with Henry and grabbing the gun she kept in her nightstand. She never thought she would have to use it, but was immensely grateful that her father had insisted on lending it to her. She was hyperventilating, her heart was pounding like thunder, and her eyes were as wide as the full moon outside. She picked up her phone and started to dial 911, but then she screamed as something grabbed her from behind. Her cries were cut off as something cold and metallic slammed itself over her mouth, and she felt a warm breath against her ear.

_“Shhh,”_ a woman cooed, almost lovingly, _“Don’t be afraid, my love.”_

Emma’s eyes locked onto the foot of the bed, where Henry had been just moments ago. He was now in the far corner, with his fur puffed up and his eyes completely dilated, glowing eerily within the darkness. He was growling, but did not move.

Emma struggled to breathe as the metallic object fell away from her mouth, and she realized at that moment that it was a gauntlet with long, sharp claws for fingers. She dared not turn around. She just stood there, frozen in utter terror as she tried to find words. When she finally did, her voice trembled as much as the rest of her (perhaps more so).

“You’re the— the—”

“Witch Queen?” the sultry woman asked, “Yes, I am, although that isn’t a name I bestowed upon myself. I don’t mind it, though. On the contrary, I’ve come to admire it.”

“Wh-What are you gonna do to me?” Emma rasped.

“Nothing you do not wish me to, dearest,” the Queen assured, “Don’t you remember? I swore to you that I would stop at nothing to keep you safe. I could not keep my promise to you before, but things are different now, and I have every intention of staying true to my word.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was sadness in the Queen’s voice. “You don’t, do you? Pity.”

She moved so that she was in front of Emma, and when they finally locked eyes, they each felt their heart skip a beat. The Queen lifted Emma’s chin ever so gently with her iron claws, and a sad smile graced her lips.

“It has been so long, my darling,” she murmured.

Emma was in awe. “Since what?”

“Since they took you from me,” the Queen said bitterly, “When those animals burned you at the stake, I swore I would do everything within my power to bring you back. Eventually, though, I met the same fate.”

“Burned me— what? I don’t understand.”

“I know you dreamed of it, Emma. You saw me in your dreams, unable to save you as the villagers burned you alive. That has been my biggest regret,” said the Queen, “but having you here, in this lifetime, is my greatest blessing. We can spend eternity together, you and I.”

Emma’s eyes widened in realization. “You mean I was someone else, once?”

“Yes, though not so different. You look the same as you did before— and just as beautiful as I remembered.” The Queen caressed Emma’s face as gently as one could with iron claws. “You were accused of practicing witchcraft, but you were innocent. It was I who was the witch. Of course, it didn’t take them long to figure this out, but by the time they did, the damage had already been done. Now that I have you, my love, I will never let you go.” She pressed her lips to Emma’s in a sweet kiss. _“That I swear.”_

Moments after the Queen pulled away, Emma was overwhelmed by a series of visions flashing rapidly through her mind. Her eyes welled with tears, and she was left shaken by the things she saw. Screaming. Burning. Angry villagers. She had never seen any of this before, and yet it was all too familiar. She couldn’t explain it. Despite all of that, she felt comforted when she saw the Witch Queen amid these horrific visions, holding her in a loving manner. They appeared to be dancing in the middle of a run-down cottage of some sort.

_“I would give my life for you, dearest,”_ the Queen murmured.

Emma, in some other lifetime, responded in earnest: _“As I would for you.”_

She experienced it all from her own point of view— or at least, some version of her— and from what she saw, it was clear to her that in another life, she was deeply in love with the Witch Queen, and vice-versa. Alas, she was guilty by association and burned alive. The pain was excruciating. She suffered for what seemed like an eternity, but then there was only cold, bitter darkness, and somehow, that was even worse.

But now they were together again, and as Emma stared into the witch’s eyes, she knew everything was going to be alright.

_“Regina,”_ she whispered, her eyes alight with wonder.

The Queen smiled. “You remember.”

It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, but Emma nodded anyhow. “Yes,” she said softly.

“How much?”

Emma smiled as the Queen’s plated hands took hold of hers. “Everything.”

“Hallelujah,” rasped the Queen, “I was beginning to fear I would never get you to summon me.”

“Is that what you wanted, all this time?”

“But of course. It is my love for you that keeps my spirit in this realm. I knew if I got your attention, you would try to find me, and fortunately for us, it all worked out in the end.”

Emma frowned. “By ‘get my attention,’ you mean _murder people?”_

“They had to pay, dearest. They had to suffer as we did.”

Emma shook her head. “No,” she said firmly, “They weren’t responsible for what happened to us. Don’t take it out on them. _Please.” _

“I don’t need to,” said the Queen, “not anymore.” She loosened the leather straps on her gauntlets, letting them drop to the floor, and her soft hands caressed Emma’s face once more. “Not when I have you, sweet Emma.”

Emma’s eyes slipped shut and she moaned quietly as the Queen’s lips met hers yet again. A pleasant rush of energy surged through her veins at the contact, and she felt desire pool within her core.

“You’re aroused, aren’t you?” the Queen purred, “I can help you with that.”

“Please,” Emma breathed, “I need you.”

“As you wish.”

Before she knew it, Emma found herself on her back, stark naked, with the Witch Queen’s warm tongue lapping greedily between her thighs. She was moaning uncontrollably, burying her pale fingers in the brunette’s hair as she begged for more. Needless to say, the Queen was more than happy to oblige.

As the night progressed, Emma’s mind grew foggy with an orgasmic haze, and she found herself reminiscing to a time she had only just remembered.

_There she was, sporting a simple yet elegant white dress while her dark-haired lover held her in a warm embrace. Heat rose to her cheeks when she felt the brunette’s hand meet her waist. _

_“You look beautiful,” the Queen murmured, “Positively radiant, my darling.” _

_Emma looked up at the older woman with uncertainty. “Regina?”_

_ “Yes, my love?”_

_ “What will they do to us if they learn the truth?” _

_Pain and anger flickered across the Queen’s face, but then there was only sorrow. “Let us not worry about that.” She took Emma’s hands in hers. “Come,” she rasped, “I wish to make love to you.” _

_Emma’s blush deepened, but she smiled all the same. “Your wish is my command,” she said as the Queen guided her towards the bed._

Back in the present, Emma had long since come down from her orgasmic high and was lying limply under the cool sheets, comfortably silent as the Queen held her in a loving manner. They just smiled at one another, but said nothing. No words needed to be said. After a while, however, when Emma’s eyelids began to droop, the Queen planted a feather-light kiss upon her temple.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“You won’t leave me, will you?” Emma mumbled.

“Never,” the Queen assured her, “I’ll be here when you sleep, and here when you awaken. Have sweet dreams, my love.”

A faint smile tugged at Emma’s lips. “You too.” It didn’t take her much longer to fall asleep. When she did, the Queen’s arms tightened around her.

“We will always be together, my sweet,” rasped the Witch Queen, “because, you see, we’re both under the moon.”


End file.
